Apple doesn't like listing me as "Will Shakespeare (poetry blogger)"
to differentiate me from the other guy, although everybody else does.
They took my first book but now won't take new ones. (Go figure.)
Since Smashwords distributes my books to Apple anyway,
just go to my Smashwords author page and download EPUBs from there.
Smashwords provides samples of my books also.

Friday, August 31, 2012

Carp Diem

At sometime in the past
Somebody nibbled fish on Friday
And then, for reasons not quite clear,
Conspired to create "Fry Day."

Some say it's a religious thing
And others, purely business –
In either case, the crowds end up
Consuming lots of fish flesh.

And yet one question seems to taunt the masses:
What's the truth?
Why do we propagate a practice
Some folks find uncouth?

Some people seek profundity
And some, a juicy story,
But here's my take:
A simpler motive fuels this allegory…

Revenge must be the driving force
Behind this fishy tale.
I think that Jonah started it
So we'd consume the whale!

Wednesday, August 29, 2012


Another one of those weird poem ideas
That makes me wonder what muses do all day.

Since writers gave Jabba the Hutt a son,
There must be a Lady Hutt.
There must be a Grampa and Gramma Hutt
And maternal Hutts for the runt.

The Grammas and Grampas had parents too
And Hutts that are older still.
The thought of so many just makes me ill,
But there had to be more than a few.

A family reunion would be disgusting –
At least, to you and me.
There's too many things I'd rather not see
In that family of gluttons and lusting…

I don't understand why the heroes in Star Wars
Found it so hard to get rid of that Jabba.
To get rid of him – and his family – a gobba
Salt could be spread in the dark on the slug's floors.

And then, with the ease of a kid crushing bug nests,
Both good guys and bad could be done with the Slugfest.

Monday, August 27, 2012


He flew too high…
He stretched his homemade wings
And soared the skies;
Escape was at his fingertips.
Imprisoned by his situation
No more,
Freedom became the enemy
That brought him down.

He flew too high…
But did he reach too far
As we've been taught?
Judgment failed him for sure.
Imprisoned by his failure
Inexperience became the enemy
That took his life.

He flew too high…
But was he wrong to try?
Too many times
We settle for second best.
Imprisoned by insecurity,
Complacency is the enemy
That must be fought.

He flew too high…
But at least he flew. Will we?

Friday, August 24, 2012


In case the term is unfamiliar,
It turns sugar into alcohol.

I read that men were making wine
Eight thousand years ago… or more.
They couldn't say, "This fish needs white"
And trot down to the local store.
They couldn't chill a bottleful
For serving from a pail of ice,
Nor could they pop a shapely cork
For drama's sake at any price.
Instead they brewed their vintage fresh
In pots baked from the local clay
Because their wineskins often popped.
Ceramics were a better way.

I wonder if they ever thought
About the way those wineskins popped?
At some point, someone must have passed
Some gas – and, for a moment, stopped
In shock as they drew parallels
Between their bellies and those skins!
Would drinking that fermented wine
Leave them exploded, mere has-beens?
If so, like gas, the thought soon passed
For fermentation gained in fame.
Since we survived, I guess they learned
To drink some distance from a flame!

Hmmm… When by candlelight we're noshing
We put our wine on ice. Precaution?

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Another One Coming

Discovered in a file of unused poems.
I made a few changes and decided
I like it. Inspired by Judas Priest's song
You've Got Another Thing Coming.

A bill came for some recent car repairs,
Another for the yearly registration;
The furnace man took all I had on hand,
Despite the smallish tax return I filed.
My bank account is overdrawn; they claim
I owe at least three different penalties.
And only in the U.S.A. could doctors
Collect for visits no one had to make.
No matter what I try or what I do,
Each day brings me another round of bills
And just when I think the end is in sight…
You guessed it – I’ve got another one coming.

Monday, August 20, 2012


How now, hungry cow?

The cattle on the open range
Need food to make them strong.
They start their day with Weedies
And they know they can't go wrong.

There's fiber in them Weedies;
There's a lot of water too.
And if you're into cellulose
You'll get more than your due.

Some scientists say Weedies
Are what healthy cattle eat.
They're lean and mean; they're svelte machines –
They're bovine athletes!

But if a Weedies breakfast
Turns ALL cattle into jocks…
I wonder how the cows decide
Who's pictured on the box?

Friday, August 17, 2012

Ares's Fairies

Please don't ask me where this came from—
I have no idea at all!

According to mythology,
The God of War's biology
Met Aphrodite's embryonia
And bore a nymph they called Harmonia.

(I know some say she came from Zeus
And Electra. I think that's a ruse.
When gods and mortals start to "sweating,"
A demigod's what they're begetting!
She'd then be either girl or goddess…
But nymphs are neither; they're just oddness.)

Harmonia got the hots for Ares.
(In Greek myth, it's quite customary
For goddish parents and goddish kids
To do things normal folks forbid.)

At any rate, they both got busy
At speeds that must have made them dizzy
And, in a breeding marathon,
Created all the Amazons.

Now I don't mean to sound contrary,
But nymphs are basically just fairies.
My books say nymphs just dance and sing
And do a lot of fairy things.

That doesn't sound like Amazons
To me. They run around in bronze
Braziers with swords and shields and stuff.
I think they all sound pretty tough!

So I don't mean to sound contrary
But I doubt Amazons are fairies.
There's just no way these chicks are prancing
Through the Grecian woods, entrancing
Grecian boys to have a fling
Or doing other nymphish things.

They might not be his kids at all.
When Ares joined that ten-year brawl
Of Greeks and Trojans, men and boys…
A human kicked his ass at Troy!

Perhaps the girls said, "Hey, we're tough!
We'll prove we're made of sterner stuff
Than him. We won't be known as fairies
Like that ditzy dipsy Ares!"

I doubt there's anybody rarer
Than those who made it past the terror
Of Amazons grown tired of hearing
Fairy haters and their jeering.
So should you meet with Ares's wards
And find them armed with shields and swords…
I'd never mention old man Ares
And never, EVER call them fairies!

Wednesday, August 15, 2012


A play on the word "free-for-all."
The NFL's in negotiations.

Who chooses all the referees?
I didn't get the memo.
The deals are made in boardrooms
And the dealers all drive limos.

It's not the guy down on the field
Who ends up disemboweled
And cracks his ribs and collarbone
When bad refs miss the fouls.

It's not the fan in agony
Because the call was blown
And cost his team a playoff run—
Hey, can't you hear them groan?

So should I blame the referee
Who simply did his job
The best he could? It's not his fault
He got hired by some slob
Who couldn't call a football game
If everything was labeled.
Sometimes I think the guys on top
Are mentally disabled!

So do we need the referees?
Unless the league regroups
And gets its act together soon…
Perhaps I'll just watch hoops.

Monday, August 13, 2012

Swiggled by a Snoofus

A Dr. Seuss-inspired parody of Lewis Carroll's Jaberwocky.
BTW, "rufous" is a real word; it means "reddish in color."

I went to Bersnaggle
In search of the Snoofus –
A radishant creature
With feathers all rufous.
It quarbled my folks with
The claws on its peckles.
I vozzled a varbit
To pern its kerneckles!

I tracked it to Parzel;
From there to Lake Graggle;
The pipples it dropped
Led me straight to Bersnaggle.
The groach of its harbit
Meant no one could miss it…
And soon I stood facing
Its snarding derissit.

I pulled out my slaggish.
The Snoofus just furgled,
Its snarding derissit
Abrept as it snurgled.
My slaggish abrashed him
With brammish kurlotta;
I knew soon the Snoofus
Would paize his last brotta.

Enamished, I curded
To brash with my slaggish
When two tiny Snoofi
Appeared. They were daggish!
They mibbled, they nubbled,
They driggled and wozzled.
I had to petark them
In spite of my vozzle.

I looked at the Snoofus.
It no longer snarded;
Its parish derissit
Was almost petharded.
No longer enamished,
I veered from my varbit
And left them, all brotta,
Alone in their harbit.

But then, as I wandered
Away, I heard furgling!
The Snoofus and both of its
Snoofi were snurgling!
I rushed to the harbit,
My slaggish all curded –
But no one was there. I'd
Been swiggled! They verded!

So if you should ever
Encounter the Snoofus –
A radishant creature
With feathers all rufous –
Beware of its Snoofi!
Don't veer when they driggle…
And brash with your slaggish
Before you get swiggled!

Friday, August 10, 2012


A tanka saluting the awesome women's teams
from the USA, Japan & Canada

It sounds like
The game Americans worship…
But the women
Are much more Olympian
Than the men

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

The Tortoise and the Hare: An Olympic Fable

Inspired by Usain Bolt's T-shirt.

It was the most anticipated
Race in history
(Though how they even qualified
Remains a mystery).

Olympic organizers saw
The marketing potential;
The advertising income could
Become quite influential.

The tortoise, coached by Usain Bolt,
Found novel ways to train;
The hare preferred a Playboy bunny –
Chasing was his game.

The tortoise trained by crossing streets;
Results were rather graphic –
The fender-benders mounted as
He tried to sprint thru traffic.

The hare (as most expected)
Found it difficult to focus;
He planned to win by using all
His normal hocus-pocus!

When race day came, they both agreed
To run 400 meters
(Though Bolt thought running hurdles would
Eliminate the cheaters).

"A single lap?" The hare just smiled.
"I do that in my sleep.
I doubt he'll even have a chance
To look before I leap!"

The gun went off. The tortoise pushed
The pace as you'd suppose...
He took so long to leave the blocks
The hare began to doze!

The tortoise plodded 'round the track—
You've heard this story, right?—
He slowly made his way around
As day turned into night.

In shock, the hare awoke to find
The tortoise nearly done...
And still the hare was so damn fast
He really should have won

But Bolt had planned for everything
(He doesn't like to lose)
So waiting at the finish line
Were folks from Disney Cruise

Lines. "Hey, March Hare! What's going on?
We need you on the boat!"
They snatched him up, and stuffed him in
A tea-stained riding coat,

And drug him off despite his pleas
To let him cross the line.
He spent the next three weeks aboard
A ship in bright sunshine.

The tortoise took the gold that day
Because he's not a dolt.
He knew there's just five ways to race:
Walk, jog, run, sprint, and BOLT!

Monday, August 6, 2012

Adrenaline for Dummies

Or should it be "Adrenaline for Junkies"?
Either way, yell it out loud in one breath


Friday, August 3, 2012


They're done by archaeologists
     And volleyballers too.
The coolest of the cool lived there
     Before a crib was cool.
My best friend makes them frequently –
     He thinks a putdown's fun,
Unlike the cute chick down the street
     Who thinks I'm number one.

Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad,
     Sometimes I'm just not sure;
This word's been used so many ways
     Its meaning is obscured.
So often when I hear the word
     I'm not sure what to do –
But since I see a shovel here,
     I'll bid you all adieu.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

National Pastime

Remote control
Smokes from constant overuse
Surfing channels;
Too many choices
Tire the couch potato